


Can't get a Hit on You

by hirohamadugh



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: (only briefly/mentioned/alluded to), ??? - Freeform, Angst, Assassin AU, Bathing/Washing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Hair Braiding, Hair Brushing, Hired to target Yoosung, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, No RFA, No parties, Not Beta Read, Update!, Which I do, Yoosung is a medical student, Zen is an Assassin, but falls for him instead, god a lot of both, if you count your supposed to be killer as your enemy?, in a WAY kinda, just pure AU, just soft pining men, no sexual implications, second chapter now for closure, t for cursing and potential gore depending on how squeamish you are?, techincally?, zensung army rise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:02:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23853520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hirohamadugh/pseuds/hirohamadugh
Summary: Zen is an assassin hired by Mint Eye to take out Yoosung for rejecting the invitation to paradise and now knowing too much. However, what he doesn't expect is to start caring for him instead.
Relationships: Kim Yoosung/Zen | Ryu Hyun
Comments: 13
Kudos: 39





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [neelrahae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/neelrahae/gifts).



> this is for you Harleen! :]

_This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen._

* * *

The red-eyed man ruggedly hit the kickstand to his motorbike with the toe of his boot, flicking it outward so the machine could rest upright by itself as he slugged the key out of the ignition. He slid the helmet off haphazardly and tucked it in the crook of his elbow, tipping his head back to breathe in the night air, which suffocated his lungs as they frantically tried to switch intake from hot-and-humid when his helmet had been on to crisp-and-chilly thanks to the mountains that surrounded the meet coordinates he’d been given. His long platinum-white hair spilled down the back of his dark leather jacket, freed now to fall and blow in the gentle breeze that drew the breath back out from his lips in whichever direction it pleased. He didn’t get peaceful, quiet moments like this all too often. It was only natural that he wouldn’t keep this one for very long.

Not even opening his eyes from the reverie, a toothy half-smile spread across his face, knowing he was being watched. “I came in the middle of the goddamn night, just as you asked,” he called out with a quiet chuckle, as if this weren’t a regular occurrence. As if he were normal, and meeting people alone, far from any of even the suburbs of Seoul, in the middle of the night were an absurd thing to do. Which it should have been. But he had found himself upon a line of work that was very much not normal.

“And you’ll be thankful,” the voice of his watcher replied, emerging from the dark that loomed on the outskirts of the nearby shrubbery. He was broad, and wore multiple layers that covered him head to toe of any distinguishing features. He wore reflective aviators, even though it was 2:48 in the morning, and the only lights illuminating their conversation were whatever light pollution from the city all those miles away had oozed its way out here and the moon that was nothing more than a sliver of a crescent right now. “I have a case for you. Same client. Personal Vendetta.” He handed the long-haired man a manila file of what was undoubtedly information on the target, who took it fluidly and unzipped his jacket, tucking the sensitive information inside without so much as a peek.

“Me, personally? Wow, Mr. Director, I’m flattered~.” No legal names were used in the organization. Too dangerous; they all went by nicknames, and no questions were asked. The white-haired man had personally decided to start going as Zen a few years ago, in tribute to the peace he liked to let his victims die in. He never thought twice about changing it again. He tilted his head with a cocky grin across his mouth, always the type to boost his own ego. “After all, I am your best, hm? It’s okay, I promise I won’t tell any of the others if I am~.”

It couldn’t be seen because of the shades, but it was clear The Director was rolling his eyes by the way his lips fell slack around the cig that had been dangling out of them. “No. No one else would take it.” He tapped Zen’s abdomen roughly where he’d seen the man conceal the papers, referring to them. “Family matter, by the sounds of it. You’re the only one dirty enough to take it.”

Zen omitted a quiet “oof” as his chest was jabbed, before shoving his hands in his pockets and giving a smug shrug of the shoulders. “What can I say, I’m just that hard of a worker~!” The Director grumbled at this comment, but only flicked his cigarette into the dirt and stomped on it in return, prompting Zen to continue. “I mean, after all, I am MUCH less sloppy than Seve-”

“You’re much poorer, too.” His boss was quick to interrupt Zen from further flattering his own ego, crossing his arms over his chest. “Lot of money, Magenta’s willing to pay for this one. Somethin’ about ‘rejecting paradise’ or whatever bullshit you know they spew. Sounds like the vic knows too much, and needs to be taken out, and she’s willin’ t’pay a high price to keep ‘m quiet. You’re a good worker, ‘nd I need to keep food on your table if you’re to keep working well. Take the job, hm? You know how to reach me if you need additional intel.” The Director clapped Zen on the shoulder, giving him a stiff nod, before disappearing without another word and leaving him alone in the biting dead of night once more.

The job, as it turns out, was nothing Zen couldn’t handle. While the specifics of the motive were not divulged in the file he’d received, he was an assassin. Assassins aren’t hired to hear motives, they’re hired to get the job done, anyways. The details seemed simple enough.

**KIM YOOSUNG (M, 26)**

**Blonde [via bleach, natural hair: dark brown]. 171cm. 68kg. Lanky to moderate build. Defining feature: violet irises. Born March 12. Blood Type: A. SKY University Medical Resident. Currently stationed in trauma ward. Hobbies: Video Gaming, Cooking, Volunteering. Often seen with hair pinned back to the left with pins in X pattern. Most likely found at: H &R Hospital, Kang’s Kafe & Pastries. Online alias: SH00TINGSTAR_SUNG. **

Zen thumbed his finger over the photos of the victim that were paperclipped to the documents, trying to memorize the face well for when he was to begin his observation the following day. Cute. Shame he wouldn’t be for long, as Zen was very good at his job.

* * *

The documents were right. They always were. The guy was a medical resident at the hospital in southeast downtown Seoul, and by the middle of week two of watching him and just sitting, staking out in the parking lot for the ungodly hours they worked those poor glorified interns before going home on his days off and watching the blond play videogames for HOURS on the pinhole-security cameras Zen had installed just outside his apartment’s windows, he was pretty sure he had the mundane routine down pat enough to begin making his move. He checked his watch now- 1:28 pm, meaning Yoosung’s rounds were bound to be relieved by another resident very soon so he could go on lunch break. Having _seen_ him forget to pack his own via the cameras, Zen knew this meant he would be headed to this little coffee shop he frequented, self-run by a just lovely pair of ladies who were so kind to him the few times he’d been to case the joint. He pushed his sunglasses up onto his head to hold his hair and leaned back into the decorative wire chair on the café’s patio, squinting a little as he carefully scanned each passerby’s face. He nursed the growing-cold latte he’d ordered 20 minutes ago and kicked his foot out in a lax sprawled manner, coming off as a guy just taking in the views around him. He had to be patient, always had to be patient, as an impatient hitman was a dead hitman. And so, he knew how to wait.

13 minutes later, just as he’d predicted, a blond young man in baby blue scrubs appeared in the far peripheral of his vision, and it was go time. Zen shoved himself up into a standing position, looming over the table and pretending to read something on his phone as he watched Yoosung grow closer and closer out of the corner of his eye. He turned swiftly, taking the to-go coffee cup with him, scooping the cell phone up in his hands and never taking his eyes off it as he made his way out of the patio area and- oops! Right into another person. A specific other person, exactly as planned, craftily spilling whatever of Zen’s latte he had saved all over the resident’s scrubs.

“Ah-ah!” Yoosung cried out, throwing his hands out in an overtly-apologetic way, and Zen almost felt sorry for a split second for guilting the innocent dude into it as his paper cup clattered to the ground in the commotion. “I’m so so sorry, I didn’t see you coming, and…!”

Zen held up a hand to stop him and cracked one of his winning smiles, shaking his head and making sure a few white strands fell into his eyes for maximum charm when he did so. “It’s my bad. I walked into you. I’m so _so_ sorry to have spilt my drink all over you, Doctor. Please, I have so much respect for healthcare workers,” _even though I’m the opposite of one_ , he omitted, “Let me buy you your drink as repayment? I’m so sorry again…” He knew he wasn’t a doctor. But an ego stroke was an ego stroke, always.

Yoosung blushed, taking a look at the damage done for the first time since it had happened. “I,” he sputtered, flustered by the entire interaction and perhaps by Zen’s charisma in handling it. “I-I’m actually not a doctor… Uh, not yet, I mean! I’m a resident student!!” He beamed in pride, and Zen placed a hand over his own chest with a tasteful gasp.

“Oh, all the more reason, a student… I’m sure you’re paying for enough with those loans. Please. I insist… May I buy you your order?” He softened his eyes to convey hope, and to come off as good natured, which his victims almost ALWAYS ate up, and Yoosung was no exception. The shorter man smiled, now, his eyes crinkling in the corners as he nodded in agreement as he walked with Zen up to the counter. Zen paid as promised, even beyond the coffee and for Yoosung’s lunch, as well. He took his (under a fake name) card back from the brunette barista and shoved it haphazardly into his wallet #3, quickly burying it in his back pocket and shooting the medical student a grin. “I’m so sorry again, Dr… Uh, what was your name?”

Yoosung’s eyes lit up, before he winced, mentally reprimanding past-Yoosung for never having introduced himself. “O-Oh! Kim Yoosung! A-And I’m not a doctor…!”

Zen laughed, and it wasn’t even just for show. “Close enough~,” he teased, leaning against the counter where orders came out when they were ready. He brushed the hairs that had fallen into his crimson eyes earlier out of his face, sweeping them to tuck behind his ear now, and completely drinking in the attention as he watched Yoosung’s eyes follow his fingers’ movements.

A quiet beat had passed, alluring and comfortable, before Yoosung snapped out of it, blushing even wilder than he had when he’d first ran into him. _Good to know_ , Zen mentally noted, before being interrupted from the thought by the medical student blurting out words as if he didn’t even get the chance to think them before they reached his tongue, as they came out perhaps more desperate than he would have intended. “A-And your name?!”

Zen bit his lip to keep from laughing, not wanting to be rude and seem like he was laughing _at_ him, he just couldn’t help but feel a giggle roll around in his chest at the effect he had on the younger man. “You can call me Zen,” he offered, holding out his hand to shake Yoosung’s. “I’m an up and coming actor, so that’s my stage name, I’m trying to get it to catch on, heh!” He used his other hand to feign sheepishness by rubbing the back of his neck: he’d found this alibi worked the best to keep from a.) having to come up with an entire alias, b.) his real name hidden while also c.) explaining why they probably ‘never heard of him.’ Yoosung beamed excitedly, raring to sputter out a reply, but his food came out just then and distracted the both of them.

“Will you sit with me?”

Zen had helped carry the food/drink over to the small booth of Yoosung’s choosing, and set it down as he raised an eyebrow at the medical resident. “Hmm?”

“I-I mean!” Yoosung nearly fumbled his own drink across the table at the lack of immediate ‘why yes, of course I will!!’, and knit his eyebrows in almost… a pout, did Zen dare say? “If!! I-If you’re free of c-course!! Ifyou’rebusyItotallyunderstandIjustfigured-”

The taller man slid into the booth and took a daring swipe of the foam off the top of Yoosung’s drink with his pinky, answering the question for him. The conversation they shared was surface level; from Yoosung, it was hardly anything Zen didn’t already know. From Zen, it was hardly anything that was the truth- all mostly about his ‘acting’ career. Although, technically, he wasn’t lying when he said he worked for a Director. But, patients didn’t wait for just anyone, and Yoosung had to get back to work quicker than any more than introductory stories could be shared. “Ahhhh,” he sighed in frustration, not wanting to leave the new pleasant company he’d found himself within. “I’m back on the pager in 15 minutes… Thank you so sosososososo much again,” the shorter man smiled, and Zen stood when he did.

He raised an eyebrow in amusement, the toothy grin adorning his face once more. “For spilling my coffee on you? Ah. My pleasure, anytime~” he teased, making the med student scrunch his nose as he knew that was not what he’d meant. Zen chuckled at it, unable to keep himself from doing so: he was just too fun to rile up. “Ahaha!” He shook his head again, reaching into Yoosung’s scrubs pockets and rifling around for a pen, eliciting a giggle and protest since Yoosung was ticklish. Once he’d found one, Zen grabbed the blond’s wrist and scribbled his burner phone’s number onto it, a confident look on his face as he winked and handed the pen back to a man who certainly should consider diagnosing himself with rosacea. “Go get’em, Dr. Kim~” He said, and was gone, leaving Yoosung to digest all of that all by himself. To him, it would be a chance meeting, a stroke of fate that had brought them together. But to Zen, it was a calculative move that now opened up him moving forward on his target, unaware of the steely ice-blue eyes that watched him make his escape.

Yoosung reached out; of course he did, who wouldn’t have been caught by those dazzling red eyes and windswept white hair? And so one conversation turned into two, turned into texts, turned into _regular texts,_ turned into grabbing coffee again, and again, and again, until it became a typical outing on a multiple-times-a-week basis. Zen had unlocked a little more and more intel on Kim Yoosung the more he frequented seeing him, and by week 5, was having so much fun he almost forgot about the part where he had to kill him.

He was reminded by a buzz of the burner phone in his pocket as he parked in front of the temporary apartment he’d been assigned by the organization, whipping it out to read with a smile at whatever Yoosung was probably playfully whining about this time-

**[TXT FROM DIRECTOR]**

**Magenta client wants this done this week.**

**[TXT FROM DIRECTOR]**

**Do it or get reassigned.**

The blood left Zen’s fingertips as his face dropped, the phone nearly slipping out of his hands at the hard slap of reality. He quickly looked around himself, suddenly feeling like a fish in a bowl, and could have sworn he saw a figure duck out of view as soon as his eyes turned that direction. Suddenly hyperaware of himself, he pulled his hood over his head and ducked into the stairwell, going up an extra two flights and coming back down to make sure he wasn’t being followed before letting himself into the apartment.

Zen. A moment of peace before death, that’s all he could hope to give his victims. He shakily pulled out his phone and opened a new message draft to Yoosung.

**[TXT TO** **YOOSUNG** ★ **]**

**do you want to grab an evening snack tomorrow night and then go out of the city and look at the stars? you could show me some of those constellations you were telling me about last week, you know?**

His thumb hovered over the message before finally summoning the courage to hit send, and for the first time in his entire career, Zen felt his stomach drop at the feeling of finding the perfect way for one of his victims to go.

The night was agonizingly long and sleepless, and the following day flew by far-too-terribly fast. They had planned to meet at their typical café at 8:30PM, just as the sun was setting and the vibrant colors of daytime swirled and morphed into dusk. Everything would be perfect, for Yoosung, he would make sure of it. Had to make sure of it. Suddenly, his happiness was the only thing that mattered. His comfort, too. Zen checked and double checked the dosage of delayed-absorption toxin he knew he had to slip into Yoosung’s drink, but the more he stared at the small baggie of powder, the more sick he felt. He couldn’t afford to mess up even a little: as soon as Yoosung started sipping the clock would be on, and he was determined to make sure the stars he had loved so much were what he was surrounded with when the time was to come. It was the least he could do.

Zen’s fingertips skimmed the fabric of shirt over his right side, knowing this one would hurt him more than any other job had before, and it’s because he allowed himself to get stupid. This wasn’t the first time he got close to a victim; but it was the first he’d allowed himself to get _invested_. He genuinely enjoyed flustering Yoosung, teasing him about his pink cheeks or tired eyes from too many rounds of LOLOL when he KNEW he had graveyard shift the next night. He had gone from prying for information that could lead to motive to wondering what his favorite color was, whether he would ever have a pet, if he liked spicy food or couldn’t handle it. He liked listening to him go on and on about the crazy patient stories he had from his shift, and was always very careful to just listen, and never let on exactly how much he knew about artery placement or the nature of blood uptake of toxins.

His hand clutched the baggie and stuffed it deep into his dark jeans’ pocket, unable to look at it anymore. It was getting time, anyways. He wanted to arrive early so he could order the drinks ahead of time to make it easiest on everyone. It’s not like he didn’t know Yoosung’s favorite by this point, anyways.

Zen snatched up his motorbike’s keys violently, angry at himself, angry at the world for getting him here. Angry he’d ever fallen into this line of work in the first place; he’d never particularly _wanted_ to be a professional murderer, but once you find yourself there, you’re stuck for life. Most importantly, angry he’s taken this job. He could have declined The Director when approached on it, like everyone else did. Maybe that should have been a sign that this case simply wasn’t one that was ever meant to be done in the first place. After all, how the hell was the world going to cope with losing their Yoosung, their Shooting Star?

He arrived at Kang’s Kafe & Pastries and parked close to the doors, as every second would count once the product was in his body. Stepping off the motorcycle, Zen pulled out his phone to make sure Yoosung hadn’t said any deviation of plans and was on his way. What he hadn’t expected, however, was a hand clamping on the back of his neck and “Hey, man, haven’t seen you in a long time, it’s so good to catch up!” Boomed from a voice right behind his war. He’d clapped Zen’s shoulder in feigned affection, but the grip in actuality held his spinal cord like an iron railing, and sent an involuntary shiver down it when the voice dropped to a whisper and the hand began to guide the two men towards the side of the café, where the garbage was disposed of and no one would really be looking. “I can’t let you do this. I know what you’re here to do.”

Zen bared his teeth in almost a growl, finally able to crane his head in the restricted grip to catch sight of the mysterious figure. His eyes widened nearly to the size of saucers as he recognized him: “…V?”

V all but shoved Zen out of his grip, making the white-haired man stumble and breathe heavily as he tried to process the last 30 seconds. “I go by Jihyun now,” he corrected, his steely blue eyes piercing through the glasses like they always had. He was a traitor to the organization; the Magenta client had supplied him as one of their own men to delegate on their jobs as assistance, but V had never been with them in the first place and always playing the long game. Zen had heard whispers that he was starting to interfere with Magenta’s other ordered jobs now too, but never had that confirmation until now. “I’ve eliminated all their master files on him. And she hasn’t seen him in years, so her information will be too stale of a trail for you hounds to chase. Which leaves the only thing standing between him and safety… You.”

Zen watched in horror as V reached for his hip, and desperately tried to claw underneath his own shirt to access the ceramic knife he kept in a harness on his bare chest at all times in case he ever had to put up a fight, but Jihyun had him pinned against the wall and weaponless before he’d even gotten the chance. And he was crying, oh, how he was crying. His grip was white-knuckled on Zen’s wrist, but his hands were shaky. “I’m sorry,” he choked out in a sob, head hanging in absolute shame at the conclusion that the only way to ensure Yoosung’s safety was to harm another. He could never kill Zen; he’d only been undercover as an assassin back then, after all- but even knowing the agony this would bring him absolutely tore the teal-haired man apart, even if he knew it was for the ultimate best. “I’m so sorry, I j-just can’t take any chances-”

V plunged a shallow knife of his own into Zen’s abdomen, eliciting a loud howling scream from the killer in pain of the sensation. “I’m so sorry,” Jihyun sobbed out again, hesitating before pulling the weapon back out, even though he knew that ran Zen the risk of bleeding out. “He’ll be here soon, he’ll be able to take care of y-”

People had started to come from their tables to investigate the agonizing screaming, and V fled before he could finish the thought. Zen fell to his knees, clutching his increasingly-sopping damp shirt with violent shakes at the pain, he let out another loud howl, before feeling tears of his own begin streaming down his cheeks, and without even thinking about it, he found himself crying out for him.

“YOOSUNGGGG!” He screamed, the arm not clutching his wound growing wobbly and threatening to make him fall completely to the pavement, the crowds that were growing around the corner gasping and frantically chattering about what to do. A few of them had come forward to try and help him, but he weakly lashed back on all of them, making a small bubble around him. He didn’t want their help, he didn’t want anyone’s help, he deserved this, he was a dirty fucking murderer, it was only time before something like sweet karma like this came his way.

Some woman cried out about how someone should call the emergency hotline, but was overpowered by a smaller voice trying to worm its way through the crowd, growing in confidence and in volume as it found its way to the front of the masses: “Excuse me!! First responder here!! Please let me to the patient!!”

When he made it to the front he dropped to his knees, gently placing his freshly-gloved hands on Zen’s upper arm. “Yoo-osung,” Zen sputtered out, a wet cough interrupting the name as he met the blond’s purple eyes with his tear-filled red ones. The medical student remained calm, as he was trained to, and shook his head with a small smile, trying to calm the other man down.

“Hey, hey, down boy,” he teased, as he’d begun teasing Zen like he was a dog a week ago when he’d first heard him howl as a joke. Yoosung helped support Zen’s weight by pushing on his shoulder and holding him up himself, easing the burden off the shaky arm. “I’ve already paged the ER, transportation is on the way. Until then, can I see it? Will you let me take a look?”

The medical resident reached tentatively towards the hem of Zen’s shirt, but the assassin clutched the wound even harder, seething through his gritted teeth at the pain he accidentally inflicted in doing so as he frantically shook his head. “Y-You can’t see …!! C-Can’t see th-them…”

Yoosung knit his eyebrows, retracting the hand that had been reaching and using it to push Zen’s bangs out of his face instead. “Hey,” he said softly, pressing a caring peck to the white-haired man’s forehead. “It’s just me, just Yoosung, it’s okay. It’s okay.”

Zen squeezed his eyes shut, shivering all throughout his body now as the shock of the wound settled into his bones, but released his tight grip and allowed Yoosung to lift his bloody and sliced open shirt up to his chest to take a closer look at the wound’s severity and placement. When he did, he caught sight of what it was Zen must have been trying to hide from him as well: a scrawled tattoo on his right side, below his ribcage, practically illegible names, 7 of them, to be precise, and a fresh-looking carved out messy addition, but it was just a star. _Got a lot of exes_? he would have teased, but based on the given circumstances and how defensive Zen had been of him even catching sight of it in the first place, Yoosung chose to abstain from commenting whatsoever. Never in a million years would he guess they were the names of all those who had fallen at Zen’s hand, who he never allowed himself to forget. “Okay, its actually not too bad, we’re going to do everything we can for you, alright? Do you know your blood type?” He looked up when Zen hadn’t answered, but the injured man had fainted from a mixture of shock and blood loss. Thankfully, he still had a strong pulse, and Yoosung’s colleagues had begun to arrive on the scene, so the transport of attack site to emergency room was as quick and painless as it could have been for someone who was just stabbed in the stomach.

Zen came to a bit later, dazed and disoriented. Where the hell was he? Why was he so cold, and where did these blankets even come from? He heard voices, but they all sounded so distant, and he couldn’t quite make out what they were talking about. “Hey,” one he didn’t recognize said, but his head weighed a thousand pounds and couldn’t be moved so quickly to see where it had come from. “Patient’s coming to.”

“Just in time, I’m almost done last suture.” Another person replied, but this one he knew. Yoosung. Zen moaned, trying to move and frustrated he couldn’t, and heard the clatter of Yoosung’s tools hitting the tray as he dropped them, finished with stitching Zen’s stomach back up. He heard the slap of Yoosung’s latex gloves as he stripped them in a way that ensured he didn’t come into contact with any of Zen’s blood on the outside of them, taught well as he discarded them onto the suture tray as well. “You finish bandaging up for me, hm?” He said to whoever owned the first and foreign voice, before he came into Zen’s field of vision. “Hey, sleeping beauty.” He gave a tiny laugh and smiled down at Zen, but it was hidden behind the surgical mask he had on still. Zen wasn’t satisfied with that, and wasn’t thinking straight, so the only thought that consumed his mind was how if Yoosung was smiling at him, he wanted to _see_ it, dammit. So even though his arms felt like they were made of lead, he groaned and scrunched up his nose, exerting all his effort to groggily and barely manage to claw at the mask, until Yoosung helped him in removing it himself. “Now now,” the resident scolded, enveloping Zen’s larger hand in both of his own and gently guiding it back down to the bed. “Take it easy. Would you rather be Prince Charming instead?” He laughed again, and Zen’s lips curled up to join in on it, but he only managed to hack out another sputtering cough, followed by a painful moan at how his abdomen had convulsed in the attempt to laugh. Yoosung let him squeeze his hand, frowning as he felt like that was his fault. “Sorry,” he cooed, pushing the headband that was holding his golden hair back a little further up onto his head. “That one was on me.”

Zen let his eyes fall shut again, eyebrows scrunching together as he tried to piece it all together. “Did you…” He cracked one eye back open, looking up at his now-close friend. “You… take care of me?”

Yoosung sat on the edge of the hospital bed, still holding onto Zen’s hand and now rubbing small circles onto the back of it with his thumb sheepishly. “Of course I did,” he confirmed, giving Zen’s fingers a gentle squeeze. “I wanted to be the one to help fix you up. I had to, I couldn’t help it.” The nurse that had been helping with the procedure finished dressing the wound and took his leave, making it only the two of them present in the emergency room any longer.

Zen felt the tears begin to well in his eyes, because if only Yoosung had known the terrible things he would have done to him. The terrible things he could not even bear to think of anymore, and knew deep down he couldn’t have gone through with, but had prepared to. “Y-You shouldn’t… N-Not me…” He squeaked out, shuttering a deep inhale into his chest and crying out from how it hurt to move. “T-This isn’t wh-hat I deser…W-What I deserve…!” He grit his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut in shame, and only opened them at the feeling of Yoosung’s palm leaving his only to re-situate itself upon his cheek, wiping the tears away.

“Shh,” he soothed, goading Zen’s eyes back open, even just a tiny bit to look at him. “It’s okay. I know I don’t know everything about you- I didn’t even truthfully have a name to check you into the system other besides ‘Zen’, after all- but whatever it is, whatever is plaguing you… It’s okay. And I will take care of you always, no matter what.”

The blond man leaned forward to kiss Zen’s forehead affectionately again like he had an hour or two ago, but this time he got dragged off course by the taller man gripping his scrubs’ collar and pushing himself up to weakly catch his lips. Wasn’t exactly a hell of a first kiss, but it was theirs, and that was all that mattered. “Hyun,” he breathed, barely more than a whisper, and felt his chest rattle at the feeling of saying it aloud. “My name is Hyun Ryu.”

“Then I will always take care of you, Hyun.” Yoosung said and peppered another soft kiss onto him, and was interrupted by the frantic buzzing of Zen’s pocket. He helped the lanky man fish the burner phone out of it, as he still was struggling to move his arms all that much, and peered over to see what was possibly needing this much dire attention. “Oh! Your stage director is texting you, ah, they’re calling…! Do you want me to step out?”

Hyun took the phone and wordlessly opened the back of it, plucking out the sim card and dropping it into the glass of water next to his bed, tossing the phone haphazardly onto the floor. He didn’t care. He could never go back, anyways. Not anymore. “No, I don’t need to worry about him anymore,” he said with a weak smile, taking one of Yoosung’s hands back in his own. “I think… I think I’m retired. I want to do something more meaningful, anyways. I… want to help people, instead.” Hyun squeezed the hand, cradling it into his chest, and promised to himself he would never let go. “And be radiant to the world around me… Just like you, Yoosung.”


	2. Chapter 2

Hyun slugged the keys fluidly out of the ignition of his bike, fishing the buzzing phone out of his pocket- _his_ phone, the first real one he’d had for _himself_ in years, and admittedly was still getting used to all the new-fangled features of smartphones these days. He slid his helmet off his head with as much ease as breathing, the motion having become second nature to him in all the years of riding as he tucked it beneath the crook of his elbow and leaned back to fumble to unlock the device and read the messages he’d been receiving.

**[TXT FROM ★❤** **]**

**are u home yet???**

**[TXT FROM ★❤]**

**I have a surprise for you!! ❤**

Hyun’s lips curled widely at the messages, and he threw his leg over the median of the bike hastily in effort to make it to their shared flat as quickly as humanly possible. He slung the few bags of groceries he’d run out to get for that night’s dinner- it was one of Yoosung’s nights off rotation, after all, so they’d planned to spend it cooking together, maybe followed by a movie on the couch or a nightcap. Yoosung had a _very_ low alcohol tolerance, and it was _quite_ the sight that Hyun absolutely adored to see every once in a while. The white haired man practically bounded up the walkway and subsequent steps to their front door, twisting the knob with his free hand and bursting inside with a wide smile. “Yoosung!! I’m back, what’s the surPR-”

He didn’t even get the word out of his lips, body run cold from drinking in the sight before him. His helmet hit the ground, followed shortly after by the bags he’d been holding, shattering any glass jars and spewing the contents to ooze and pool around his shoes. He didn’t care. That didn’t matter. What mattered was Yoosung, screaming into a gag, tied up to one of their dining room chairs with eyes the size of saucers, clearly trying to shout for Hyun to _RUN_ , _SAVE HIMSELF_ , or some other stupid self-sacrificial message that the ex-assassin most definitely wouldn’t listen to.

“Something wrong?” A voice purred, far too close to Hyun’s ear, having had waited for his arrival behind the door and only now making his dramatic entrance onto the set stage. The Director, he knew he would find them sooner or later. Hyun had known his attrition to the organization would always pose a threat, but had hoped delusionally that it wouldn’t have come so soon. Not when he’d barely gotten a few months of freedom to explore normalcy. “What’s the matter, Zen?”

The tall man’s hand instinctively reached to the hem of his shirt, but he’d let Yoosung talk him out of being _armed_ just to go to the _grocery store_ about three weeks ago, and he silently cursed the beautiful blonde man for helping him that well already and therefore putting him in a compromised position now. He screamed, unfreezing in an instant, and whipping around to assail his old boss with fists alone, but The Director had grabbed hold of Hyun’s long hair and used it against him, ripping it violently in the opposite direction and making him fall right where the assassin wanted him, gripped in a headlock with a blade at his throat. He grunted, trying to throw his elbow back into the older man’s gut, but was only met with a tight seething in his ear and the chill of the sharp edge being threateningly pushed against his adam’s apple. “Thought you were smarter than me,” The Director snarled, capped off with a sickening chuckle that nearly sent a shiver down Hyun’s spine. “Thought you could ESCAPE, thought you were better than us, don’t forget who MADE YOU!” Before he could do anything, the blade moved ferverently, slicing across his cheek instead and making the white-haired man grit his teeth and squeak. He was clawing at his chest, at the hands and wrists that held him in the headlock now, digging his fingernails as deep as he could into any skin they sought purchase with. Yoosung, forced to watch it all from across the room, let out another muffled scream into the shirt tied roughly into his mouth. That made The Director chuckle, remembering the scene he’d set. “Your little foster failure is going to watch, witness my Show, then I will finish that failed job myself!” The killer tightened his grip and did it, following through on his words as Hyun screamed his last dying word.

“YOOSUNG!!”

He sat up with a bolt, sweating profusely and clambering his hands to scratch at his neck like a rabid animal. Everything was black, everything was red, or some mix of the two, his heart racing a mile a minute and breathing rapid. Distantly, he heard the patter of footsteps hurrying over towards him, but didn’t place the arrival until two hands softly landed on his shoulders, making Hyun screech and nearly leap out of his skin at the startle. “Hey, hey,” Yoosung cooed, shaking his head desperately as he gently grabbed his boyfriend’s hands and pressed them flat to Hyun’s own chest as a grounding measure. “It’s another nightmare. It’s just a dream, Hyun, It’s okay, you’re here. I’m here. Everything’s okay.”

The room swam around him, and one by one things pieced together in his vision: first Yoosung, then their bed, the lamp turned on in a haste, the room’s walls. The older of the two desperately gripped the thin and damp fabric of the shirt he’d slept in, which was now clinging to his shaking frame from all the perspiration. He was still heaving wildly, eyes darting and unable to stay in one place for any length of time. Yoosung squeezed his fingers, and tenderly moved his hold to place his hands on either of Hyun’s cheeks, now that he was confident the man was at least present enough to where he wouldn’t scream at the feeling anymore. “Not real,” he continued to reassure, looking his violet eyes directly into his boyfriend’s bloodshot ones. He’d been crying in his sleep, long before he woke, and Yoosung’s mouth twitched in the pain of knowing that. “You’re home,” he whispered, swiping his thumbs across the sticky skin of Hyun’s cheekbones. “You’re safe, I’m safe, whatever you were seeing- i-it was just a dream, sweetheart.”

Hyun moved his hands weakly up from his chest to ghost over Yoosung’s on his face, wildly scanning in everything about the blond. He was all present and accounted for, just as promised. “A-A dream,” he repeated, before gnashing his teeth in a pained look, chest rattling as a sob surged forward. “B-But I d-deserved it,” he cried, frantically moving his hands to his side and clinging to it as if he’d been wounded where the tattoo lie beneath his gray v-neck, seething.

The doctor trailed his eyes to follow his love’s hands, and caught on after a beat of what he was alluding to. Again, he was gentle in taking Hyun’s hands from the self-mutilating behavior, weaving his fingers between the desperate ones to keep them from prying at his own ribcage. “Hey. That was Zen. You’re Hyun. You’re loving, and caring, and kind, and a changed man from who you were when I first met you.” Yoosung pressed a loving peck to Hyun’s nose, and rested their foreheads together for a moment of just being together. He had found out about Hyun’s past and truth very shortly after the stabbing and hospitalization, and originally refused to talk to him, not wanting anything to do with a killer. His supposed-to-be-killer. It had hurt, but Hyun understood. He gave Yoosung his space, then; he couldn’t blame someone with such mirth and brightness to bring the world for not wanting to hang around someone of the likes of him. But within a few weeks passing, he came back. He came back because he was a healer of people, and wanted to play a role in helping Hyun to heal himself more than any patient he’d ever seen before. And in doing so, he rediscovered once again that there was so much more to a man than his dark past. He’d even assisted in finding the addresses of most of Zen’s victims’ families, and now joined Hyun every anniversary of one to send flowers anonymously to each of them. It didn’t fix things, it didn’t make it right, but it was a step, and that was what mattered enough for Yoosung to forgive him.

Hyun cried quietly, the only noises escaping his mouth being the choked wheezes of his small sobs, and the blond man pulled his boyfriend’s face into his chest and cradled him there. “It’s okay,” he cooed again, knitting his fingers into the tangle of platinum hair gingerly and running through it soothingly. He knew his love had a particular adoration with his hair being tended to, and smiled to himself as he planted another peck atop Hyun’s head. “C’mere,” he goaded, shifting his posture to coerce Hyun to sit up a bit more, helping him arduously struggle to his feet. “Let’s get you freshened up, hm? You’ll feel much better then, pretty boy~!” Yoosung tugged at Hyun’s thin wrists, letting the taller man stumble into him like a barrel of bricks, earning a soft “oof” from the both of them as their bodies collided unceremoniously. The doctor led him to their bathroom and helped the taller man out of the warm and damp shirt, wetting a cool washcloth and tenderly toweling away all the fear sweat, cleaning Hyun anew to rid him of any remnants of the dream. The white-haired man let him dote on him, shivering more now from the cold of his chest suddenly bare, but relished greatly in the clean, fresh feeling of the skin behind anywhere Yoosung’s hands went. He seethed when the blond toweled over the names scrawled on his ribs, as if they physically hurt to the touch, but Yoosung shushed him with a kiss on the shoulder and continued on until his torso was all clean.

“Great,” the shorter of the two mused, a small smile on his lips as he reached for a dry towel to help wipe Hyun off before running to fetch a new, clean shirt for him to put on instead. “Now it smells like wet dog~.”

Hyun growled only meekly due to still struggling to calm down from his panic, halfheartedly baring his teeth to own the ‘Hyun is a dog’ ongoing joke that Yoosung liked to tease him with oh-so often. “Woof woof, deal with it,” he said quietly, lacking the normal bite to his words but having all the taunting intent nonetheless. Yoosung nearly downright giggled, reaching up onto his tiptoes to wipe Hyun’s forehead and face clean too, a cheeky grin on his lips as he tapped the tip of his boyfriend’s nose.

“Boop! Whosagoodboy?” And for that snide comment, Hyun drew the line, and grasped wildly at Yoosung’s sides, wandering fingers diving beneath the hem of his own shirt and deftly tickling at the skin there, making the blond surrender nearly immediately. “Alright, a-alright!!” He laughed, throwing the wet towel at his lover’s face as payback for that one, and for the first time since waking up, Hyun smiled, albeit mischievous and crooked from having Won™.

“As I thought,” the taller man commented under his breath, crossing his arms over his chest in attempted boasting confidence but falling short and landing squarely into cute-and-tiny-self-hug-Yoosung-couldn’t-help-but-pout-at-how-adorable-it-was.

Shaking his head and sending some golden strands of hair into his face, the younger man snatched up Hyun’s hairbrush, waggling it with a tiny smile in offering. The other man in question all but bolted back to the bed, sitting criss-cross facing the pillows with his head tipped back, already accepted and ready to receive pampering. Having his hair brushed by Yoosung was something Hyun would never, EVER, perhaps- say no to.

Yoosung couldn’t help but let a laugh bubble out at the lover boy’s antics, throwing a knee onto the mattress to clamber onto it behind him and kneel over Hyun, first sweeping his hands to draw all the hair back over his shoulders and skimming Hyun’s neck with the backs of his knuckles as he did so. He’d be lying if he said it wasn’t a _little_ bit on purpose, because he couldn’t help but smile at the peaceful sigh that always emitted from the white-haired man’s lips when it happened. Humming to himself, Yoosung began to brush Hyun’s terribly long hair, making sure to do his best never to tug and to work out any knots that had arisen in his thrashing slumber as gently as he possibly could. Even after all the tangles were gone, Yoosung gave the hair a few more pass-throughs just for feeling’s sake, knowing well how much Hyun enjoyed to be preened and taking joy in how the soft hair fell right out of the brush’s bristles when knot-free.

Setting the brush down, Yoosung stretched over Hyun to his bedside table, plucking one of the hair ties off of it and biting it to hold as he set to work in nimbly weaving Hyun’s hair into a thick french braid. He lavished in the motions, taking his time longer than he needed to in effort to soothe the taller man as much as possible, and when he was done, he tipped Hyun’s head up and pressed a small kiss to his forehead. Hyun smiled, no longer weak- that big, beautiful and toothy smile that Yoosung found himself fumbling over almost a year ago now back in that damned coffee shop. It still caused his heart’s pace to hasten, and undoubtedly his cheeks and ears to grow pink and warm too due to their proximity. He should be used to it by now, but some things just never change, and if butterflies at his love’s smile was what it was he was stuck with, well, was that the worst thing in the world?

Hyun pulled the braid over his right shoulder, his drooped and half-open eyes narrowing in teasing as he turned his body towards the younger man. “There’s my little tomato,” he snickered, reaching out to tuck Yoosung’s hair behind his ear in return, and caught the blond man’s lips with his own in a kiss to express his gratitude for everything he’d done for him. Everything he’d _always_ done for him. No matter how many times he said it, it would never be enough: “Thank you,” he whispered softly, drawing back to look at Yoosung, who was properly lobster red in the face. Hyun chuckled at the fact, the corners of his eyes crinkling in mirth as he mentally noted it, even in this dim light. “I mean it,” he continued, a breath he hadn’t known he was holding escaping from the deepest part of his chest. “Thank you so, so, so so so so so sooooo much, Yoosung. You mean everything to me, I truly don’t know where in the world I would be without you.”

Properly gay panicking at such a genuine and heartfelt statement from the boyfriend who typically let his affections shine through teasing instead of a heart-to-heart, Yoosung’s eyes darted to the mattress, his tongue fumbling frantically to stumble out the stupidest thing he could possibly think of. “Y-You got a package while y-you were sle-eeping!!!!”

Hyun’s eyebrows knit down in confusion, although it was clear there was amusement in his face as well from the sudden change of topic thanks to flustered Yoosung making an appearance. “… A package?”

Cursing himself for totally ruining the tender moment, Yoosung nodded, a sheepish hand flying to the back of his neck out of habit. “Yeah, for Hyun Ryu, too, I know you said no one really knows your name or anything much less where you live and where WE live and also there was no return address so I’ve been dying to know what it is but obviously I wouldn’t just open your things behind your back or anything and-” Yoosung’s run-on blabbering was halted by Hyun placing a hand on his chest, reminding him to breathe every once in a while, you know. He sucked in a wild breath, embarrassed, and looked over to the doorway. “I-I’ll be right back!” he sputtered, then darted out of the room to retrieve it before Hyun could even edge in a word. He returned shortly after with the mailing envelope in hand, running his thumb across the written name of his boyfriend on the front of it once more in contemplation before surrendering it to Hyun himself. 

The older man let it fall into his lap, recognizing the handwriting from somewhere but unable to place it, probably only having seen it once or twice before. He tore open the seam with his teeth, spitting out the discarded edge and slipping his fingers into the opening, extracting the contents of the flat and large envelope. On top of it all, not held down by any means and therefore falling onto Hyun’s knee and then the comforter was a small note, which he plucked up to read before examining any of the rest.

**_Sorry for stabbing you. Hope this makes up for it._ **

Ah- the handwriting- it all made sense now as it clicked in Hyun’s brain: V’s, no, _Jihyun’s_. Setting the curt note aside, the white-haired man moved his focus onto the bulk of the package- a manila folder, just like the ones he used to get with briefing of his victims, and seeing another one in his hands like this made them begin to rattle in fear. Yoosung reached over and enveloped them the best he could in his smaller ones, trying to still the shaking. He gave Hyun a look of _You can do this_ , encouraging him silently to tackle whatever it was that Jihyun had deemed important enough to send personally. He took a few deep breaths, which subconsciously stimulated Hyun to do the same, matching Yoosung’s deep breathing rhythm. After the third or fourth one, Hyun nodded, pushing forward to open the folder and look into its contents. He was quiet for a period of time as he read- a stack of documents and articles, it seemed, which should have been confidential reports that stayed within the police department alone. How the hell Jihyun had gotten his grabby little hands on this, he’d never know, but he couldn’t help but be grateful for it. The weight that dissipated off his chest upon reading the files was immense, and he was certain that relief was more than enough of a repayment to a knife in the liver.

Hyun felt tears starting to drip down his pale and blotchy cheeks once more, and there Yoosung was, ready as always to wipe them away. “What is it…?” He dared to ask, and Hyun just shook his head in disbelief.

“Th… The… All the rest of them,” he couldn’t say it directly, but Yoosung knew exactly who he meant by the heavy tone laden in Hyun’s voice. “They were… T-They got busted, w-whole org. T… They’re d-doing time,” a tight pang of some off-strain of survivor’s guilt gripped on his chest, but Hyun tried his best to shake it away, because his grief _was_ his repayment, and he could never better himself behind bars as much as he could by Yoosung’s side. “They… T-They can’t get us, Yoosung,” he breathed, his whole body shaking with the statement. “We’re… We’re safe, ah, physically at l-least… I might n-not be if the authorities find me t-too, but at least you are s-safe now, that’s… that’s all that matters t-to me, I-”

Yoosung had plucked out another note, written on the same paper as the ‘sorry I stabbed you’ one, and passed it to Hyun with a little smile creeping onto his lips. “I wouldn’t be so sure you have to worry about you, either, love.”

Hyun took the slip and read that once, twice, three times before processing the words scrawled out in Jihyun’s writing. He simply couldn’t let himself believe it, not at first.

**_I paid them all off to keep quiet of your existence. A little money goes a long way… Welcome to the world of the normal, Hyun. I can’t wait to see what you do here._ **

**_Best,_ **

**_Jihyun Kim_ **

****

**_PS- Promise me you’ll never contact the Magenta client again? Ever. And if you get any emails about anything of ‘paradise’, please reach out to me._ **

Beneath his name was what Hyun could only assume was his personal phone number. He clutched the paper so hard it threatened to rip, and Yoosung softly tugged it out of the older man’s grip for its own safe keeping, smoothening it on Hyun’s bedside table before hugging his boyfriend. “We’re safe,” he exhaled, and for the first time, allowed Hyun to hear how scared he had been of his ex-crew rearing their ugly heads for the worst, too.

Hyun hugged him back, burying his face into Yoosung’s shoulder and taking a deep breath in, allowing the smell of Yoosung to overwhelm his senses: a mix of cologne, Hyun’s shampoo he liked to steal but then wildly deny he used any of, isopropyl alcohol, and fabric softener. He clung to the smaller man’s frame tightly, for the first time really allowing himself to accept this reality, this sweet sweet dream that he never woke from, as the truth. “I love you,” Hyun blurted out, more as a gasp for air than anything else. But Yoosung just grinned, pushing the documents of their safety aside to properly curl himself up in his love’s lap, burning up blushing at each point of contact where their skin met.

“I love you too, Hyun. Just as you are.”


End file.
